Before he knew what hit him, Sloan found himself sitting at the table with the merchant, discussing board footage, while Samantha placed the most heavenly plate of chicken-and dumplings in front of him that he'd ever seen. Sipping at a glass of wine, he forgot about throwing the women out and concentrated on calculating the profits of the deal Smith was talking about.
Sloan had eaten everything set before him and hammered out the deal by the time he realized the room was beginning to empty. The blacksmith's wife and one of the twins cleared tables. Smith stood and settled the bill with Alice Neely. Sloan searched the room for Samantha.
She wasn't there. He had a bone to pick with that brat. He was still irritated that she'd suckered him into eating in the damned place instead of shutting it down. But the food in his stomach kept him from being too volatile on that subject. He had another subject on his mind now.
He shoved past empty tables and into the hall leading to the kitchen. He could hear women's voices back there. He didn't want another encounter with the damned schoolteacher and her cow eyes, but maybe she'd get the message this time.
He threw open the kitchen door, found Samantha at the washbasin, and pushed the schoolteacher out of his path as he entered. Everyone else had sense enough to stay out of his way as he crossed the room. Even Sam looked resigned as she saw him coming. She was drying her hands on a towel by the time Sloan grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the rear door.
"Mr. Talbott, you have been away from civilization entirely too long if you think this is the way a gentleman treats women," she scolded as the door slammed behind them.
He ignored the complaint. "I'll wager you that my saloon is pack-jammed full of men right now, Miss Neely, drinking themselves under the table even though it's a work night."
"Your saloon is always pack-jammed full of drunks, Mr. Talbott. I fail to see what business that is of ours." Samantha backed up closer to the wall and away from his menacing proximity.
"You really don't understand at all, do you?" Sloan braced his arms on either side of her head, trapping her there. "Men are perfectly content to live together when there aren't any women around. But just give them a sight of swinging hips and a glimpse of female ankles, and they go insane. They'll be killing each other before this is all over, and you'll be to blame, Miss Neely."
"That is the most patently ridiculous thing you have ever said, Mr. Talbott, and you've said many. The men understand our rules. If one of them so much as makes an inappropriate comment, the others have our permission to throw him out. They'll behave, sir, if they value a good meal. And I believe they do."
She was staring up at him through eyes wide with anger and not an ounce of fear. She had her hair pulled back in some kind of knot behind her head, emphasizing the high curve of her cheekbones. Three of those little buttons at her neck were open now, and she didn't have any idea what he was talking about. Sloan really didn't think he had any choice. He was either going to kill or kiss her.
He kissed her.
Chapter Thirteen
Completely taken by shock, Sam did nothing more than dig her fingers into the wall when Sloan Talbott bent his head and put his mouth against hers. She couldn't remember if anyone had ever dared try to do such a thing to her before. She didn't try to think of anything at all. She just tried to stay upright.
It was freezing out here, but his mouth was hot. She could feel heat emanating from the rest of him, too, but only his lips touched her. Some subconscious urge wished for more, but she was having difficulty enough dealing with just this one contact. He didn't let go or move away, and her lips seemed to melt under the pressure.
Sloan slanted his head to taste a little more. Sam felt certain he meant to devour her as he had the chicken and dumplings earlier. But oddly enough, she found herself responding. Her lips tentatively returned the kiss, and she felt strange tinglings in her middle when his demands became more forceful. He was practically pressing against her, and he seemed to demand more than she knew how to give.
His tongue traced the line of her mouth, and she shivered. He nibbled at her bottom lip, and she gasped. Then his tongue dipped inside her mouth, and she grasped his shirt front for support.
She couldn't stand. She was going to melt right here on the porch. She felt his breath inside hers, tasted the chicken and the wine on his tongue, felt the heat of him filling her. She had no experience at this, knew no response to make. Only instinct kept her clinging to his shirt front as she allowed this invasion.
He caught her shoulders and pulled her to him until she was pressed up and down against him and could feel the hard metal of his buckle pushing into her belly and the buttons of his vest squeezing against her breasts. She was going to expire right here and now. He was going to suck the breath from her and kill her. And she was going to die with the pleasure of it.
The porch door slammed, and they jumped apart so fast that Sam nearly fell. Sloan cursed, glowering at the midget, who interrupted by heaving a pan of dishwater over the rail. With one last look at Sam, Sloan stalked off.
Jack propped the empty pan on the rail and looked in his cousin's direction. "That wasn't Talbott out here, was it?"
"It was the devil himself. Didn't you see his tail twitching?" Irritated with herself, irritated with Jack, Sam grabbed the kitchen door.
"You don't have to be so grumpy. I just asked 'cause someone was in here looking for him. Seems there's a fight over at the saloon, and they need him to stop it."
That's just what she needed to hear. It was a damned good thing they hadn't got around to naming the terms of the wager. The good Lord only knew what he'd demand in payment for this one. She thought maybe he had already claimed it.
When she entered the kitchen, her mother merely handed her a pot to scrub and said, "That man has a short fuse. You'd better stick to kitchen detail in the future."
Leave it to her mother to understate the obvious. Still rubbing her mouth thoughtfully an hour later when she retired to bed, Sam curled up beneath the covers and tried to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But she had little enough experience lying to others. She had great difficulty lying to herself.
Sloan Talbott had kissed her. He hadn't just kissed her. She'd had other men and boys smear their mouths across hers before. There was absolutely no comparison. Sloan had done things to her mouth that made her feel him right down to her knees. To her toes, even. He'd done things no man had ever done, things that ought to have been disgusting, things that would have been disgusting had any other man tried them.
The really horrific, terrifying part about it all was that she had liked what Sloan had done to her.
And the part that made her whimper and bury her head under the pillow was that she wanted him to do it again.
***
Sloan slid his Colt back into his holster and watched wearily as Joe marched two more of the brawlers into the cold night air. A little snow would bring them to their senses fast enough, but he wouldn't get much work out of them in the morning. There'd be more bumped heads and cut fingers in the mines and mill tomorrow than they'd had the past month, and it was all the fault of those damned women.
He would have to do something about it, but he didn't know what. Maybe he ought to import a wagon load of whores from 'Frisco. That ought to serve a dual purpose by sending the good women screaming out of town and satiating the hungers they left behind. He just didn't know what he'd do with a saloon full of whores after everything settled back down. Besides, those paid women were diseased more often than not. It was one of the reasons he hadn't availed himself of the opportunity when he was down there. He knew too damned much about venereal disease to play fast and loose with it just for a few minutes' fling.
But abstinence created equal dangers, as he was discovering. He couldn't believe what he'd done tonight.
Climbing the stairs to his room, Sloan wished he could kick himself all the way up. He'd bet about now that Sam would gladly do the favor for him. She was probabl
y washing her mouth out with lye soap. He couldn't blame her. Maybe he'd made his point, but it wasn't well done of him. He'd played the part of cad for so long it had apparently become second nature.
He was going to pay the price with another sleepless night. He threw open his bedroom door and started to cross the floor to the window. Only instinct told him he wasn't alone, and he swung just in time to see the shadow separating itself from the wall.
Sloan dodged and felt the gun butt meant for his head slam into the shoulder that was still weak from the last attack. He groaned and bent over with the pain, but not enough for the intruder to get the advantage. Sloan shoved his elbow backward viciously, connecting with some soft part of his attacker's anatomy. The man yipped and pulled back, but a second later the light from the hall caught on a gleam of silver. Sloan just had time to fall to the floor and roll away before the intruder brought the knife down where he had just stood.
Sloan kicked upward rapidly, but his attacker had apparently realized he'd lost the advantage of surprise. He was gone before Sloan could get to his feet and chase him.
He tried. He ran to the hall and looked down the stairs, but he saw no one. He tried the door to the gallery, but if the intruder had left that way, he'd already disappeared over the rail or down the outside stairs. Sloan ran down and checked the downstairs lobby, noted who was left in the saloon, and went outside to investigate the street. Other than the few late-night drunks in the saloon, there was no one out of the ordinary.
Joe materialized out of the shadows. "Looking for someone?"
"A man with a knife for my back. Seen him?"
Joe gave a pithy curse, pulled his gun from his holster, and checked the horses up and down the street. "I'll take a look around, but those same nags have been there this past hour or more."
"I didn't hear anything. I'd venture to say he's on foot."
They both knew what that meant: The man who wanted Sloan dead lived somewhere nearby. Joe grunted and stalked off to examine the nearest alley. Sloan returned inside.
In the chaos of these last two months since the women arrived, he'd almost forgotten his attacker. He'd better not be so careless again. There were too many strangers around these days.
He wanted to blame this, too, on the women, but he couldn't pinpoint the connection. The first attack had come the morning after they arrived, but Sam had been the one to save him. The person who had jumped him just now couldn't have been female. Even Sam didn't have that kind of strength. And heaven only knows, someone would have noticed if a woman had gone up and down those stairs.
But the coincidence of their arrival and the first attack bothered him. And tonight he'd been distracted by the opening of the restaurant and Sam's kiss. Surely no one could have known ...
Disgusted with the wayward path of his thoughts, Sloan flung his hat at the dresser and pulled off his coat. No one was going to kill him for kissing Sam except Sam herself.
But he would have to cut his own throat if he didn't stop thinking about repeating that pleasure. Hell, if he needed a woman, he had the widow and the schoolteacher just waiting to welcome him with open arms. He didn't need to take on a hellion who would no doubt part his hair with a pickaxe if he so much as tried it again.
***
Sam was driving him to distraction, Sloan decided for the hundredth time as he crossed his boots on the rail and glared down at the plaza the next morning. Just when he needed to concentrate most, she was out there in that ridiculous crinoline with the December wind blowing it back and forth, giving him tantalizing glimpses of ruffles and lace. He'd figured Sam to wear pants under all that nonsense. He couldn't believe she owned ruffles and lace. And ribbons. He thought he'd caught a glimpse of a blue ribbon holding up her stocking.
Every other woman in town had sense enough to stay inside on a day like this, but not Sam. He'd not seen her wearing the hoops before. He wondered what possessed her to wear them now. He ought to be wondering which of his men attempted to kill him.
He caught the sound of her voice carrying on the wind. "Jack! Jefferson Neely! Where are you?"
Sloan rolled his eyes and returned his boots to the floor. He'd seen the little devil slipping behind the hotel into the walled courtyard again. He'd let him go, figuring he couldn't dig up much in this frozen ground, but Samantha wasn't likely to find him there. The brat ought to be in school, but the new schoolteacher didn't seem much interested in teaching, probably because nobody had offered to pay her.
Somebody needed to keep an eye on one Jefferson Neely. So far the little devil had managed—among other things—to get one of the mules drunk enough to break down his stall in some experiment on the effects of alcohol, which also involved a couple of chickens, an alley cat, and a stray dog. He'd set fire to a hay bale, playing with a magnifying glass, shot out the store windows while attempting to turn a derringer into a revolver, and nearly cut his hand off trying to throw a knife as he'd seen Sloan do. Jefferson Neely was a storm just looking for port.
Sloan caught up with Samantha just as she rounded the corner by the saloon. She'd been careful to avoid him, but she couldn't very well get around him now in this narrow alley while wearing that ridiculous cage. He tipped his hat back and studied the monstrosity a moment before turning quizzically to her.
"Did you think you could fly like a kite in that thing, maybe?"
"If I could, I would. Have you seen Jack?" She shoved a tumbling curl out of her face with a gesture of irritation. "He's supposed to help peel potatoes."
"Well, can't rightly blame the boy for hiding then. That's women's work." Sloan crossed his arms over his chest, anticipating the fireworks to follow.
She just gave him a look of scorn and began backing out of the alley. "Fine. Don't help me. I'll look elsewhere. Good day, Mr. Talbott."
He didn't want to let her go. He was damned bored, and she was more entertainment than he'd had in years. "Somebody's going to have to make that boy mind, or he's going to grow up to be a criminal, Miss Neely," he called after her.
She'd reached the corner, but she turned to yell back, "Just look at what fine examples of manhood he has to emulate, Mr. Talbott. If we're lucky, he'll grow up to be just like you, and all he'll do is terrorize women and drive men to drink."
He grinned. She was the only damned woman in the world who could make him laugh, and she was dead serious. He followed her out of the alley, caught the sway of her hoop, and jammed his boot down on her skirt before it could swing up and hit him in the face. She came to a sudden halt at the tug on her waist.
"I've got a little bargain for you."
She swung around as much as she could with his foot holding her in place. "I'm not interested in your little bargains, Mr. Talbott. I can't even do you a favor without having you throw it in my face. Let me go, sir."
"You'll like this one, Sam. I'll get the boy to peel the potatoes and mind his manners for the rest of the week."
She watched him suspiciously. "In return for what?"
He looked her up and down, from the velvet jacket with its big bow in back, to her flower-trimmed bonnet, to the wide expanse of alpaca spreading over her hoop. She almost looked the part of a lady. She very definitely looked the part of a woman. And it was driving him crazy. Here was his chance to put a stop to it while saving face. For once, he was willing to lose a bet.
"In return for a kiss," he answered cheerfully, knowing full well he didn't have a chance of making that misbegotten son of trouble behave.
Her look of scorn said she knew it, too. "And if you can't make him behave?"
Sloan shrugged. "You can go back to wearing pants."
She positively beamed. If she could have gotten to him through all that wiring, she might even have hugged him. As it was, she nodded eager agreement and held out her hand. "It's a deal, Mr. Talbott."
She wasn't wearing gloves. Well, he couldn't expect someone like Sam to pick up all the ladylike habits right away. He crushed her cold fingers between his and shook on it.
She had a strong grip, but her hand was slender and practically engulfed in his. It felt good there. He dropped it as soon as he realized that.
"I'll haul him to your kitchen in a couple of minutes." Sloan pushed his hat down and strode back down the alley.
The creative little beggar was lying flat on top of the grape arbor and focusing what appeared to be a pair of binoculars on one of the hotel rooms. Sloan was willing to wager the bank that the room belonged to the merry widow. He would have to ask Sam how old this little monster was. If he was old enough to look for naked women, he was old enough for more trouble than the wager was worth. Or maybe he could be bribed.
Slipping beneath the arbor, Sloan pulled out his knife and cut through a couple of the ancient vines. They were practically the only thing holding the old latticework up. Once they were loosened, he hooked his fingers around a rotten slat and pulled.
The entire center of the arbor came crashing down, Jack with it. The boy lay stunned, looking up as Sloan towered over him.
"Looks like it's back to potato peeling for you," Sloan said casually, prodding him with his boot.
Watching him warily, Jack started disentangling himself from shredded vine and broken lattice. "I coulda broke my neck," he mumbled.
"You could have broken your neck and lain here for days if I hadn't been here," Sloan said unremorsefully. "The widow could have come to the window and seen you and screamed her head off, and half the town could have come out and shot you down. We're going to have to reach some agreement here."
"Agreement?" Jack brushed slivers of torn vine from his coat, not looking at Sloan anymore. His cheeks had reddened, not necessarily from the cold.
"Yeah. You're going to have to start doing what your aunt and cousins tell you to do."
"That ain't an agreement. That's slavery." Brushing off the back of his pants, Jack stood up. Rebellion was back in the thrust of his chin.
Denim and Lace Page 11
